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ear Hear 
You 



nWIWnaMlMMMillMiaMWWWaMBIMt': 




Dedicated with love to my mother, 

Sarah McMahan, 
the one ''among others- the best.'' 



Copyrighted 1904 
By Saidee mcMahan-Okey 



LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
I Two Copies Received 

NOV 10 1904 

Copyriiini tniry 

CLASS <i^ XXc. No 

COPY B. 






WHISPERED TO YOU. 



"Then hold me so close that I'll hear every throb 

Of the heart that is beating for me, 
And you'll read the sweet truth written deep in my soul 

That I'm living for Him and for thee." 



DEAD ROSES. 

To La Reine. 

^^ 

Dear Heart, the roses you gave me 

I've kept; I've treasured them well; 
I've kissed them, loved and caressed them. 

For roses never tell. 
I have looked on their withered beauty 

With a tear bedimmed eye; 
I have told them how I've missed you 

Since the night of our dear Good-Bye. 

I gazed on their dear, dead beauty 

Tonight, as the music played low, 
And that, with their fading fragrance, 

Took me back to the long ago. 
I seemed to again be near you — 

Your lips caressing my own — 
My hand clasped in yours, my darling, 

My head on your breast— my home. 

Your brown eyes searching my own, dear ; 

Searching these eyes of gray; 
Reading that I am yours, dear, 

Now — forever — alway. 
So I'll keep, Dear Heart, the roses ; 

I'll keep, I'll treasure them well; 
I'll kiss them, love and caress them— 

For roses never tell. 



REGRET. 

To MotKer. 

My heart is sad, my soul seems dead, 

As I sit in the twilight alone ; 
My tired hands caress the bowl 

And incense fills the room. 
The petals within are withered and dead : 

They tell me of joys that are done; 
They tell of a heart that is weary and spent. 

Of a life race nearly run. 

I can see again an old-fashioned rose, 

Whose petals lie there 'mid the rest. 
'Twas given to me long years ago 

By a woman, 'mong others, the best; 
'Twas years ago, but my memory 

Paints clearly that picture tonight. 
I'd give my all — my future years — 

To again drink in that sight. 

The old-fashioned garden, the head bending low, 

To pluck the red rose from its stem ; 
The tired old hands, the silver-gray locks, 

Her smile like the Savior of men. 
Oh ! my heart is sad, my soul seems dead ; 

Would that I were a child again, 
'Mid the old-fashioned roses with mother, so dear. 

And the world would but move, now, as then. 



But a fragrance awakes me, my childhood is past ; 

Other roses I hold in my hand. 
A form is beside me, what music I hear ? 

What means all this melody grand? 
Ah ! I trustingly place my hand in your own, 

I offer you all— my life ; 
My heart sings with gladness, my soul breathes sweet peace, 

I answer the dear name of wife. 

That was years ago, and tonight I sit 

In the twilight all alone; 
My heart is sad, my soul seems dead ; 

My happy days have flown. 
And with tears I place 'mid those withered leaves 

One blossom— a pure white rose- 
To lie on the grave of my dead— dead hopes, 

While nobody cares— or knows. 



CONSTANCY. 

^^ 

If you were a star in yonder sky, 

The one that we claim our own, 
And your starry beam would only gleam 

On a desert, whence others had flown, 
I'd pillow my head on its dreary sands, 

As the lowliest wanderer might do. 
And ne'er look away 'till the day had come. 

Then I'd sleep and dream of you. 

If you were a stream that raged and rolled 

'Neath an ever-threatening sky, 
I'd make my home on your treacherous shore, 

Tho' no one else was nigh; 
And some dark day, when I'd called in vain, 

Tho' I knew you wanted me, too. 
I'd bury my face in your cold embrace. 

And go to rest with you. 



FORGET. 

^^ 

Won't you take a wee trip to dreamland, 

And close those dark gray eyes? 
Won't you drift to that dreamy yonder, 

And forget this day of sighs? 
Forget, that the day of parting 

Dawns tomorrow for you and me; 
Forget that Fate's waiting vessel 

Must take me away from thee. 

For the moon that beams in your window 
As you lie on your pillow at night 

Will take from your cheeks the tear drops- 
Will pity your sad, lonely plight; 

And, perchance, in her silvery voyage 
O'er town, o'er country, o'er sea. 

She may pause by my side a moment 
And give those pearls to me. 

The gale that affrights in mid-ocean: 

That lashes the waves to mad foam ; 
That may cause us to pause and listen — 

That same gale may choose to roam 
O'er country, mid pine trees and flowers, 

In the guise of the cool, balmy air. 
And may kiss your cheek in the moonlight. 

And in dreams you will think I am there. 

So take a wee trip to dreamland — 

Just close those dark gray eyes : 
And drift to that dreamy yonder — 

Forget this day of sighs. 
Forget that the day of parting 

Dawns tomorrow for you and me — 
Forget that Fate's waiting vessel 

Must take me awav from thee. 



WHY? 



As I stood in the gloaming that evening 

And heard the pines' lonely cry, 
My thoughts quickly wandered to you, dear. 

And caused me to wonder, why! 
Why all this love and devotion 

Has been given me day by day. 
And, when I so need your coming, 

Too soon, you are called away. 

I rest in the strength of your love, dear ; 

The arms, that enfold me, my home. 
If God will but give me your love, dear, 

I feel that I never would roam. 
But would live for you and His glory— 

Your great, noble soul, my shrine. 
And Heaven be all around me 

If I knew you were truly mine. 

But I'll rest in our love this evening 

And drink of the joy that is mine; 
Your looks — your assurance — your kisses. 

Your kiss in the cup, not wine. 
I'll rest in my hopes this evening 

As my soul receives this good-bye : 
Yet I know the pines' weird crying 

Will cause me to wonder why. 



Why my lonely cry has no answer: 

My poor, weary self no home; 
Why, when at last I have found you 

That Fate has called you to roam; 
Why have the days this misery? 

Why are the nights so long? 
Why are my lips now silent— 

My sobs choking back my song? 

Can you tell me why, tonight, dear, 

When my heart is breaking for you — 
You, who are all in all, dear. 

Tender and kind and true? 
But I'll rest in my hopes, tonight, dear. 

Close my eyes that with tears are dim 
I know a tomorrow will dawn, dear, 

I'll leave the today with Him. 



MEMORIES, 

To Irene. 



Dear Heart, my soul is so weary, 

So tired of struggle and fight; 
Won't you chase from my mind all memory 

As I come to your arms tonight? 
Won't you help me forget the weary years 

That I lived — and all in vain? 
Won't you frighten away those memories 

And take from my heart this pain? 

My girlhood seems one short, sweet day. 

Then the years till I met you 
Take the shape of a cruel, horrible dream ! 

Oh God! can it be they are true? 
Can it be that my bright, dream castles 

Have fallen and bruised my life 
And deep in the ruins you found me 

And offered me all, your life? 

I never lived till I met you — 

You, who are kind and true : 
You, who are all that I've missed, dea^ 

My soul has blossomed for you. 
Just as God's message, the violet. 

Waits for the sun and the dew, 
So my soul waited your coming — 

The coming, and touch of you. 



My days are now full of Heaven, 

For I've looked down the future years ; 
My heart is singing with gladness ; 

I have quite forgotten my fears ; 
I only needed your coming — 

For you I have waited long. 
To give all my life an offering. 

To you, my soul's mate, I belong. 

I had dreamed some day I would find you, 

Perchance, o'er the crystal sea; 
But God, in his infinite mercy. 

Now gives your rich love to me. 
When my soul was dead in its anguish 

You brought it to life with your kiss, 
You have buried deep, deep, all my memories- 

I'd suffer forever for this. 



A HEART'S YEARNING. 



I pray that the Moon above me, 

That glorious Queen of the night, 
Will try from her throne in the heavens 

To relieve my sorrowful plight. 
Won't she pluck from the Night's sable curtain 

A star shining brightly above, 
Whose glorious beam will reveal all my soul 

And show, in its fullness, my love? 

Won't the Earth, from all that's around her, 

Pluck a blossom, a violet, may be, 
And give to it this precious message 

Of love that I'm sending to thee? 
Let it tell you how much that I love you; 

Whisper low that my heart's beating true : 
Make you know I'm your own forever — 

That mine is the soul born for you. 



I WONDER. 

I have lost a friend, can you understand 

What that must mean to me? 
He came my way one glad, bright day, 

But, now, I no longer see 
His familiar face, which gave back smiles 

To each bright glance I threw 
To him in those happy, by-gone days. 

Is he near? I'm asking you. 

I miss today the touch of the hand 

That he gaily offered me, in those happy times 

When he and I together walked the lea. 

I lost my friend when a drifting cloud 

Threw its shadow across my way, 
But now 'tis gone, the sky is blue. 

The birds again sing gay. 

Will he ever return, the friend I found 

In the happy by-gone days ? 
Will he come again, the friend I lost 

When the shadow crossed my way? 



NOBODY CARES. 

To Mr Baby. 

^^ 

Nobody cares to ease my sorrow. 
Nobody cares to dry my tears ; 

Nobody cares that my life is blighted. 

Yet must drag through yon 
Dreary stretch of years. 

Nobody cares that my heart is breaking, 
Aching to clasp my babe once more ; 

Praying to meet her lips in welcome 

And know that she loves 
And trusts me once more. 



March, 1904 



TO THE HILLS OF THE 
COEUR D'ALENES. 

:^ 

Could I but roam your forest glades 

And gather up golden sheaves ; 
Could I but play on my golden harp 

To the tune of your rustling leaves; 
Could I but sing that dear, weird song 

That I hear in your- evening sigh : 
The plaudits I'd win from this world of men 

Would ring to the vaulted sky. 

Could I but paint the Autumn leaf 

That I find in your forest glades ; 
I know I should have to pray of heaven 

It's glorious lights and shades; 
Could I be robed in the dazzling tints 

That are left by your lingering sun, 
I would be to all a goddess of light 

Till all my days are done. 



TOO LATE. 

^^ 

I came again to that dear, dear pine 

That sheltered you and me, 
And plucked one leaf from its clinging vine 

And send it, Dear Heart, to thee. 
Oh, I fain would recall that dear, sweet day. 

But I'm far away from you 
And can only send the ivy leaf 

With a message of love, so true. 

I look above to see if the Sun 

Is shining the same as that day, 
But the world don't seem one-half so bright 

Since you. Dear Heart, went away. 
I listen to hear the song of birds 

That sang to us their lay. 
But I never hear one tuneful note — 

Oh God ! these are dreary days. 

I'm calling for you. Dear Heart, for you; 

I'm praying to God for thee. 
Don't let drear Autumn creep into my life — 

Why don't you come back to me? 
I want a few more summer days 

In this life I love so well : 
I want to roam again with you 

O'er hills and thro' the dell. 

I want to climb the mountain side 

And view God's beauties so near. 
The breeze will be music — caresses — sweetheart, 

I want to be with you, my dear. 



But the leaves have all fallen. 
The once balmy air 

Has changed to the chill winter's blast. 
My poor heart is broken. 
You've waited too long : 

I find that my summer is past. 



AT THE Rustic Seat 'neath the Sheltering 

PINE IN THE BEAUTIFUL COEUR D'ALENE 

PLAZA. October 22, 1904. 



"GOOD-BYE." 

Dedicated to Mrs. Leslie Grter. 

Can my days be almost ended — 

My life sands nearly run? 
Can the lights that reveal yon picture 

Be the rays of my setting sun? 
Will that ivy-covered cottage 

Where the birds sing gay and free, 

And the violets by the roadside 

Be but a dream to me? 

Will I never come to meet you 

Down that dear old country lane? 
Will we never pick the violets — 

Will things not be the same 

As you so often pictured, in the days so long ago? 
Must it be good-bye forever? 

Yes. I've waited long, I know. 

Must I wait till your days are over? 

Must I wait till your spirit is free? 
And then — will the God of mercy 

Forgive, and send you to me? 

Too bad I heard strange music and let you call in vain 
Too bad I forgot the violets 

That grew in that old country lane. 



GOOD-BYE, CORSAIR, TOO BAD WE DIDN'T 
PICK THOSE VIOLETS."— DU BARRY. 



